#August2019

It was at a Red Robin, y’know the restaurant with the greasy burgers and tight-lipped waitstaff who don’t care if y’bring a little bourbon to sneak into your milkshake as long as y’don’t tell the manager when y’catch `em bumpin’ lines in the bathroom?

Yeah, that’s right, my favorite restaurant.

Anyways, I was drooling onto my Cajun-fries and preparing to send my boyfriend a breakup text for the fifth time that month — yeah, we were havin’ some serious problems — when I looked up to see the baseball-hat-wearin’-Marvel-Man himself. He was in a booth, a big booth, y’know, with a woman too sexy to be his wife but too classy to be an escort.

I saw this as my chance, so I bolted from my booth, jus’ a little tiny one, y’know, and I practically hopped over the bottle-blonde and sat nearly on Kevin’s lap. I asked if he’d like to hear my pitch for an MCU movie and when he said “No,” well, I knew he was playin’ hard to get. So anyways I launched into my pitch which saw Ben Grimm and Reed Richards livin’ in a post-apocalyptic vision of the Future Foundation’s ruins and they just go about their day doin’ normal apocalypse stuff like foraging for canned goods and stayin’ out of the sun, but without doin’ any superheroic shit. Sue’s dead and Johnny’s dead and eventually we find out that Franklin’s hooked on smack, so some of the movie, maybe even a half-hour, is just Reed cradling his dopesick son while Ben weeps in the corner.

“Real art house shit! Cannes! Sundance! TIFF” I kept shoutin’!

Anyways, I got to meet Kevin Feige and I thought I heard him say that he’d visit me in jail but the officer dragging me away was real rude, y’know, and wouldn’t let me go back into the Red Robin to double-check.

Aloha! Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! What is it that I do here at the MMC? Well, first I gather up all of Spaceship OL’s passengers – nerd-culture slovens and amigos and infidels alike! Then, I show `em the various bits of art and trash and fast-food debauchery that I’ll be devourin’ during the course of the week. At this point, I deactivate the laser-shackles and let the wayfarers bludgeon one another with their prospective plans for destroying ennui and undermining workplace productivity.